


I dare you

by badtemperedchocolate



Category: Bon Appétit Test Kitchen RPF, Chef RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:40:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22268056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badtemperedchocolate/pseuds/badtemperedchocolate
Summary: Claire Saffitz does not take risks.(Until she does.)
Relationships: Brad Leone/Claire Saffitz
Comments: 8
Kudos: 113





	I dare you

**Author's Note:**

> as always, this is 100% fiction.

Claire Saffitz does not take risks.

She likes weighing her options. Big decisions are a series of negotiations. She has to gather her resources, examine her options, project her possibilities, and select the optimal course of action. It served her academic career well; it uniquely qualifies her for a video series she’d never have dreamed would become as popular as it has; it drives her family a little insane when she spends six hours crafting a single meal, but the results are worth it. Claire is careful.

Brad, of course, is her polar opposite. In a lot of ways. But somehow, she always finds herself going along with whatever idea he comes up with, buying into his crazy schemes even when she thinks there’s no good reason for her to do it.

That’s probably why she consented to come along on this episode of _It’s Alive: Going Places_ , spending the week here on the coast of South Carolina.

That’s also why, right now, she’s kicking off her shoes and following Brad down a stretch of beach that is officially off-limits.

To her credit, she put up a halfhearted attempt at protesting ( _Brad, the sign said ‘beach closed’_ ). As usual, Mr. Breaking-and-Entering wasn’t fazed ( _You can tell ‘em I kidnapped you_ ).

She hates admitting when he’s right, but as the full stretch of ocean comes into view, she has to admit – he’s right. The view is worth a little petty crime.

The summer evening is clear and cloudless, and soft, deep blue and violet is just starting to tinge the eastern side of the sky, blending with the red and gold. The water in the horizon almost blends in with the hint of night creeping up into the sky, just an endless riot of color.

“You can admit it, you know.”

She looks up at Brad, startled. “What?”

He grins. “I was right.”

(She still hates it when he’s right.) “ _Maybe_.”

“Oh, _maybe_ , she says,” he huffs. “Well, we can’t all be Miss Goody Two-Shoes, Claire.”

“I am _not_ Miss Goody Two-Shoes,” she insists, hands on her hips. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Only after I convinced you.” He shrugs. “Face it, Claire. You’re a good girl. No two ways about it.”

It sounds like an accusation, and Claire’s never felt so oddly affronted at a statement implying something objectively positive. “I’m not _always_ – why did you say it like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like it’s a bad thing.”

Brad grins, teasing, tugging off his cap and ruffling his curly hair. “What? You wanna be a bad girl?”

“I – no! No, I –”

“Oh, you _do_.” His grin widens, and she can feel a flush of heat race through her. How does he do that? She’s a smart, educated, fully-grown adult, but all it takes is that lazy smile and those blue eyes and she feels flustered and warm. “You got your inner rebel, huh? Just waiting to break out?”

“You have any ideas?” She aims for sardonic, but misses it by a mile, because there’s just entirely too much fondness in her voice whenever she looks at him.

“Let’s go swimming!”

“No, Brad.”

“Why not?”

“But – I don’t – I’m not wearing a swimsuit! I didn’t even bring one,” she protests.

“So?”

By the time she realizes what he’s saying, Brad’s already pulling off his t-shirt. Claire freezes, and she really, really shouldn’t be staring, but suddenly she’s seeing a very shirtless Brad, and his strong, muscular arms are enough to fuel plenty of fantasies when he _isn’t_ shirtless, so suddenly it’s just – it’s a _lot_.

She finally remembers that it’s not advised to ogle coworkers when they undress.

Oh, and they’re not supposed to be here, are they? She looks around, but thankfully, sees no one. Apparently they’re the only lawbreakers here right now.

“You might wanna look away, ‘cause I don’t wear underwear.”

“You – what?”

She doesn’t _mean_ to look. She just – doesn’t think about it. And when she glances back, she gets an eyeful of Brad’s bare ass.

His round, firm, muscular, bare ass.

“ _Brad!”_ Claire looks away, blushing furiously. “What are you doing?”

“I warned you!” he yells back over his shoulder.

Her cheeks are burning, but she can’t stop herself from stealing another glance.

She wants to dig her fingers in, feel the muscles clenching as he hitches her leg up and drives into her with a rough, deep thrust –

For a split second she’s shocked, but at least in the privacy of her own mind, Claire’s not going to pretend she hasn’t been wanting to fuck Brad Leone for a while now.

Also – wait, _what?_

“Why aren’t you wearing underwear?”

“I never do!” he yells back cheerfully.

“Since when?”

“Like – five, six years now?” He shrugs. “I mean, if I wear a suit, sure. Ya kinda gotta.”

“But – you mean, just every day –”

“Swingin’ free,” he assures her, grinning.

Well, _there’s_ something that changes everything.

Because apparently she’s spent the past five or six years with only one zipper between her and –

_\- well._

(The lingering desire to fuck Brad Leone, normally somewhere at a comfortable simmer, is starting to bubble up.)

He ducks his head under the water, splashing happily, and grins at her. “Y’know, the water’s fine.”

Claire can hear the challenge in his voice. He’s teasing. Because he’s thinking _there’s no way in hell Claire Saffitz would ever_ –

But rather than consider the litany of reasons she normally wouldn’t, Claire takes a deep breath and narrows her eyes.

 _Game on, Brad_.

She tugs her blouse over her head, draping it over a branch nearby. By the time she’s shimmying out of her jeans, Brad’s eyes are wide.

It’s not exactly a movie star moment. She’s wearing the simplest, plainest black bra she owns, and her underwear are blue with little pink hearts on them. No lace, no strings, nothing remotely raunchy.

But the way his eyes are raking over her – keen, greedy, more than a little hungry – she’s never felt so attractive in her life.

There’s a long moment of silence, and she finally just has to say something. “Is this okay?”

“Perfect.”

His voice is low and rough and she knows without a doubt in her mind that he’s imagining her wearing even less.

Even as she walks into the water, squishing the clean pale sand under her toes, she can feel his eyes lingering on her. It’s…it’s something.

It’s actually incredibly arousing, but she’s still not a born risk-taker, and the thought of going from zero to fucking outdoors in two minutes flat is just a little much to deal with.

 _Baby steps, Claire_.

She can go swimming in undergarments that cover the same areas a bathing suit would. That’s fine. That’s enough rebellion for the moment.

(Besides, if she gets arrested for breaking into a secluded beach and having sex with Brad, Molly will _never_ let her live it down.)

He’s right. The water’s perfect.

As she wades further, the water comes up to her knees, her waist, her chest, Claire can feel herself relaxing. The natural buoyancy makes everything feel lighter, and she thinks she could just drift for a while and be totally, completely content.

Brad’s so tall; he’s further out than she is, his broad shoulders still visible over the water as he watches her. “Wow, look at you.”

“What?”

“Little Miss Good Girl, all grown up and breakin’ into beaches and skinnydipping.”

“ _You’re_ skinnydipping.” She pointedly ignores the heat in her face because she just acknowledged the fact that he is, in fact, buck-ass naked right now. “I’m just swimming.”

“For you, that’s, like, crazy.” He splashes water at her, laughing as she splutters indignantly. “You gonna start setting fires now? Smokin’ under the bleachers?”

“Probably not.” She thinks she might have achieved _sardonic_ this time. Maybe. Pretty close, anyhow.

“Still,” he insists, and the sincerity in his voice catches her by surprise, because as much as she wants to fuck Brad Leone, she also gets warm and helpless when he’s heartfelt. “You’re takin’ a real chance here with me. That’s not nothing, Claire.”

His eyes are _so_ blue, she just can’t look away.

He _knows_ her. He knows how she seizes onto a challenge and refuses to let go until she’s done and it’s perfect and she hears those four little words: _Claire, you_ nailed _it._

He can toss out a challenge and wait for her to decide, because he knows she sets boundaries where she wants them.

She wants it. And she’s starting to realize just how much _he_ wants it, too.

And he knows she just needs an excuse.

“What are you thinkin’ about? Right now?”

She’s thinking about the fact that he’s naked. He’s naked and he’s _right there_ and she’s pretty close to naked herself and she wants to know exactly what it feels like when he puts those big hands on her skin and pulls her close and slips his tongue in her mouth and she finds out _exactly_ how big he is.

She’s thinking about having sex with him.

And she’s tired of pretending she isn’t.

“You really want to know?”

“C’mon.” He grins at her. “I dare ya.”

 _Okay_.

Claire bites her lip, and she doesn’t miss the way his eyes flick down to her mouth, the way he licks his lips almost unconsciously. His frame dwarfs hers, and she’s never quite over just how _delicate_ she feels around him, small and soft and feminine. And now, the way he’s looking at her, it’s overpowering.

She knows what she wants, but it’s still a pretty big step to just go for it, and he’s just so _tall_. So she settles for reaching out one tentative hand, trailing her fingers lightly over his chest.

He’s perfectly still, breathing loud and harsh, and he doesn’t snap until she finally scrapes her nail lightly over one flat nipple.

He groans, grabs her wrist with one big hand. “Claire – _fuck_ –”

He kisses her hard, fast, desperate and a little rough, like he’s just as aroused as she is and it’s all just been a prelude to this.

He breaks away from her mouth with an audible _pop_ , but before she can do more than blink, he’s sliding his hands down over her ass, gripping so firmly she gasps, and then he’s hoisting her up against the hard line of his body.

She wraps her legs around his waist, digging her heels into his ass, shivering as she feels his cock against her, already getting hard and hot.

And maybe she was just desperate to kiss him at first, but the shock of full-body contact hits her hard, and as he bites at her bottom lip and slips his tongue into her mouth, arousal pools between her legs, low and heavy. Her hips roll against his and he lets out a choked groan, his fingers digging into her ass.

It’s sloppy. It’s messy and imprecise and it shouldn’t work except it _does_.

It doesn’t really register that she’s all out _grinding_ on him until it’s way too far to stop, and she barely gets a chance to catch her breath before she buries her face in his neck, her back arching as she comes undone in the tightest, dirtiest orgasm she’s ever had.

* * *

They do not have sex on the beach.

(He may have just gotten her off in the ocean like she’s some kind of rebellious, wild, devil-may-care sex fiend, but even Bad Girl Claire has no intention of getting sand in unmentionable places.)

So they both tug their clothes back on and speedwalk back to the hotel. She’s blushing furiously, and Brad keeps trying to decide whether or not it can be called ‘dry humping’ when they did it in the water, and if he doesn’t stop, she is absolutely going to lose her mind.

* * *

Within minutes they’re in her shower, rinsing off the salt and sand. It’s hot and steamy and it’s all slick skin and foreplay getting increasingly impatient.

She’s got her fingers around his cock, stroking lightly, and he groans.

“Fuck – _fuck_ , Claire.” He catches her wrist. “You keep doin’ that, it’s gonna be over way too soon.”

She yelps as he lifts her up in his arms, cradled against his chest, walking across the hotel room to drop her unceremoniously on the bed.

* * *

She wakes up the next morning to Brad pressing soft kisses to her bare shoulder and slipping his hand between her legs.

“Mmm.” She swallows thickly.

“Morning,” he murmurs. His beard rasps against her skin, and if she wasn’t wet ten seconds ago, she is now.

His fingers dip inside her, shallow and teasing, and she gasps. “ _Brad_ –”

It’s not until later, after she shudders and whimpers and falls apart on top of him, her thighs trembling, that she remembers: she’s not a risk-taker.

(Unless it’s a risk worth taking.)


End file.
